Blood Memory. Greg Iles

would have to deal with it. She did not deal with it well.

      “Our UNSUB isn’t actually killing Dr. Malik’s patients,” I point out, using the FBI’s jargon for “unknown subject.” “He’s killed relatives of two patients. That’s all you can prove. Maybe Malik is relying on that to shield his records from the police.”

      “Won’t hold up,” Sean says with certainty. “A judge will consider the privacy issue, but with our UNSUB killing so frequently, we’ll get the names of Malik’s patients, at the very least.”

      “But not the records?”

      “We should get those, too. Everything but private notes Malik takes during sessions.”

      “Couldn’t those be important?”

      “Obviously. But we won’t get them. Lots of precedent for that.”

      I stand and begin to pace my kitchen. “The real question is, why is Malik holding this stuff back?”

      “He claims his patients’ lives could be destroyed if things they’ve told him in confidence become public. He says some of them are at risk if it even becomes known they’re in therapy.”

      Yesterday I suggested this rationale to Sean myself, but today—given the new victim—it seems a stretch. “At risk from whom?”

      “He wouldn’t say. I’m assuming from family members, since the two women we know about kept the fact that they were seeing Malik secret from their families. Maybe from boyfriends?”

      “What if Malik’s not the killer, but he’s shielding the killer?” I suggest.

      “Then he’s an accessory to murder. If he has prior knowledge of a crime, he’s bound by law to try to prevent it. That means telling the police.”

      I stop pacing. “What if he’s only told about the crime after the fact? Is he like a priest hearing it in confession?”

      “Same principle.” Sean looks at the table, his lips pursed tightly. “Yes, I think that would fall under the privilege.”

      I sense that I’m onto something. “What if a patient comes in four weeks in a row, and says, ‘I killed somebody a couple of days ago’?”

      “Past conduct is protected under the privilege. If it weren’t, nobody would ever disclose anything to their shrink. Or to their priest, or their lawyer. Exceptions to the privilege are based on the risk of imminent harm.”

      I take a banana from a bowl on the counter, start to peel it, then put it back. “Okay, so Malik could be shielding the killer. Legally. Why would he do that?”

      “Because he’s an arrogant asshole. An academic who can’t even begin to imagine the reality of these murders.”

      “A combat medic probably has a pretty good idea about the reality of murder.” As Sean concedes this with a sigh, I feel a sudden rush of excitement. “What if he’s shielding the killer because he believes the murders are justified?”

      “Like a twisted moral stand?”

      “Maybe not so twisted. An abuse victim kills the man who’s been raping her for years. In her mind, it’s self-defense.”

      “And to Malik, justifiable homicide,” Sean adds, an edge of enthusiasm in his voice. “The problem is, we have five victims. You think one of Malik’s patients was abused by all five of these guys?”

      “It’s possible. If there was some kind of pedophile ring or something.”

      “You’re saying the killings are revenge over something that happened a long time ago?”

      “Malik specializes in repressed memories, right? Let’s talk about sex for a minute.”

      Misunderstanding me, Sean gets a twinkle in his eye. He starts to make a joke, but the twinkle vanishes as he remembers our present situation.

      “Does Malik treat both men and women?” I ask. “I think Dr. Shubb said he did.”

      “We know he’s treated some men. We don’t know how many. The task force is talking to every psychologist and psychiatrist in Louisiana and Mississippi, looking for anyone who’s referred patients to Malik. They already found a psychologist who referred a guy to him last year.”

      “For sexual abuse?”

      “The shrink wouldn’t say without a court order.”

      “Damn. How long—realistically—before you can force Malik to turn over his patients’ names?”

      “Kaiser thinks he can get a judge to order it this afternoon. Maybe the records, too.”

      “And if Malik refuses?”

      “He’ll be in contempt of court.”

      “Immediate jail?”

      “No, there’d have to be a hearing first. But he will go to jail.”

      “Do they set bail in cases like that?”

      “No. Because on a contempt charge, the prisoner can walk out of jail any time he wants to. All he has to do is comply with the court’s order.”

      “Do you think Malik will do jail time to protect his patients’ names?”

      Sean gives a knowing smile. “I think we’ll have those names by tonight.”

      “Good. Hey, did you guys search Malik’s office, too? For guns, I mean?”

      “Yeah. Malik was present during the search, and he made sure no one looked at his records. The records were specifically excluded in the warrant. We didn’t want to waste time arguing that with a judge.”

      “But were there records there? Did you see actual files in the cabinets?”

      “I wasn’t on the scene. I’ll check, but I’m sure someone would have mentioned it if they were missing.”

      “Don’t assume anything, Sean. I’ll bet Malik’s already moved those records off-site. Have you kept men at his office to pick up any patients who show up for appointments?”

      “Hell, yeah. But nobody’s shown up. We can’t figure it out. How do they know not to come? We’ve tapped Malik’s phones since we suspected him, and he hasn’t called anyone to cancel. He doesn’t have a fucking receptionist.”

      “And of course you’ve gone to the victims’ families and asked point-blank if anyone is a patient of Malik’s?”

      “Yeah, but we’re being cautious about that. Just in case Malik’s right about his patients being in danger. It wouldn’t look good if Malik warned us that his patients could be harmed, and then we got one of them killed in some kind of domestic dispute.”

      “Cautious how? Are they trying to get female family members off by themselves?”

      “Yeah. But it’s hard to know who they all are, what with marriages and divorces and all.”

      My mind drifts back to mid-July, after the second victim was killed. Andrus Riviere, the retired pharmacist. I went with Sean to interview the Riviere family, and there I saw a strange sight. A granddaughter of Mr. Riviere’s was running joyously through the house as though preparing for a birthday party rather than mourning her grandfather. And it wasn’t a momentary burst of energy. She continued to behave that way throughout our visit. About seven years old, she stuck in my mind because she didn’t seem like an insensitive child. In fact, when I spoke to her, she seemed quite the opposite. The calm regard in her eyes made me feel as if I were talking to an adult.

      “How do you feel about a woman committing these crimes?” I ask.

      Sean stands and goes to the refrigerator, but instead of opening it, he looks back at me. “I like the revenge-for-abuse idea, but it’s hard to see a woman doing what we’ve seen. There’s